Lieutenant JG Ollie Bergmen - Noone wants to be the last one alive
CPT Arianus
(( The Escort Lounge - Starfleet Mortuary Affairs Operations Center, Trill ))
It was a strange experience sitting in the escort lounge. No one there took the initiative to get to know one another or even engage in conversation. Instead, everyone remained in their chairs, fixated on their PADDs or lost in thought, as if avoiding each other might somehow lessen the heaviness of the shared grief that lingered in the room.
When Sergeant Demetry entered the lounge to give everyone instructions for their grim mission, it actually felt more like liberation. They didn't need to pay attention to each other, think about what had brought the others here, who they had lost, or why they were here. Just listening to that soothing, deep voice was enough. Ollie looked out the window into the sunny garden in front of the Center entrance, watching the gardeners who, like ants, tended the beautiful plants, seemingly detached from the sadness of reality happening inside. When he turned back to the instructor, the instruction was almost in the middle without Bergmen even noticing.
Demetry: The remains are to travel feet first when being transported from one point to another, and at every stop, you must ensure that the remains have been correctly loaded. At each transfer point, regardless of the mode of transport, you will render honors.
Sergeant pointed to his presentation, where the graphic showed proper procedure and how to render honor correctly. Ollie stared at the graphic as his mind finally began to grapple with the weight of the expectations resting on his shoulders. For a brief, fleeting moment, he felt a mix of anxiety that he didn't know where it came from. And then Demetry changed the slide, and that feeling was gone. And the instructions were almost finished.
Demetry: Your duty is not complete until you have delivered the remains to the funeral director. Escorts are not required to stay for the funeral. However, should you decide to stay, there are specific guidelines for meeting the family.
The sergeant paused and carefully glanced at the faces of everyone in the room, as if gauging the level of attention they were paying him, and how well they understood the situation they had volunteered for.
Demetry: At no point are you to discuss the nature of the deceased's death, nor are you to speculate on the activities surrounding the death. If you wish, you may deliver the personal effects directly to the next of kin or transfer them to the Casualty Assistance Officer in your destination. Just to remind you - these effects must stay on your person at all times until delivery. And this…
The sergeant paused, abruptly turning as if he sensed a gaze, and looked at the woman in a gray Starfleet undershirt standing behind the glass door, her eyes locked on him. They exchanged a silent nod of understanding, a subtle acknowledgment that conveyed more than words ever could. His slight shift in stance revealed more than his words when the sergeant turned back to the group.
Demetry: We have a first departure of the day. We form about in the drive and render honors as the remains depart.
And that was it. Ollie looked back at the others who were already packing their PADDs and leaving. He stayed seated for a moment, thinking about which of them was that first. But as the room became emptier, he let all his thoughts go and finally got up to join the others.
(( The driveway - Starfleet Mortuary Affairs Operations Center, Trill ))
Ollie stepped forward to join the front row, which at that moment was just that single line. However, it wasn't long before that changed as a second row began to form behind him, with the new lineup filled with Starfleet officers and enlisted personnel, all clad in their distinctive ash-gray uniforms, reminiscent of the woman he had seen earlier at the Escort Lounge. But Bergmen had no time to ponder what they were. The sharp, commanding voice of Sergeant Demetry sliced through the air, compelling them all to render honor. They moved as one, their boots crunching against the gravel as the hearse glided solemnly past.
Through the transparent glass of the cabin, Ollie caught a glimpse of the officer who was beside him in the lounge just moments earlier. His expression was hauntingly vacant; his restless eyes, hollow and unseeing, stared straight ahead, seemingly oblivious to the world around him as the hearse passed their honor guard. They remained standing in stillness until the hearse finally pulled out of the driveway. Only then did Sergeant Demetry order them to dismiss. Ollie stood on the sidewalk by the driveway while the others silently filed back into the building behind him. A storm of emotions roiled inside him, a tumult he couldn't contain. He inhaled deeply, feeling the cool air fill his lungs, just to exhale and calm down, to control himself. He glanced back at the garden on the other side, and then he saw them. The gardeners stood in the middle of the flowerbed, covered in dirt and mud, paying their respects as well. Their eyes met his, and in that fleeting moment, a shared understanding flickered between them— that brief nod of mutual acknowledgment said it all. They felt the same way, too.
Death felt different when it lingered so close. Neither he nor they know the story of those passing lives taken, who they were, what hopes and dreams had animated their days. If someone was waiting for them at home. If someone would miss them. If their death had meaning. All they knew was that they had died in service, in honor of their Starfleet uniforms, bound to something greater than themselves. All that remained for Ollie and the others was to render honor and pay their respects, as it was the one thing they could do.
(( The Escort Lounge - Starfleet Mortuary Affairs Operations Center, Trill ))
The gardeners resumed their labor, and Ollie made his way back into the building. The day stretched on endlessly. Whenever they came for someone, the others rendered honor. Their numbers in the lounge dwindled as the sun moved across the sky from east to west, where sixteen were in the morning, just three remained at dusk when they came for Ollie Bergmen. But it was not yet his time to go. They pulled him aside, Demeter, and that woman he had seen earlier that morning, just as the instructions were coming to a close. And only then, he finally grasped who they were—those people dressed in shades of ash gray.
Processing Officer: Lieutenant Bergmen, I am very sorry and hope you understand. We’ve taken a lot of casualties this week. ::pauses:: She’s not ready for departure today.
Bergmen nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful as he held his silence, his eyes gazing on Demetri, waiting to see what instruction he would receive next.
Demetry: Whenever you're ready, Lieutenant, we have a transport waiting to take you to your hotel.
Ollie frowned, a deep furrow etched across his brow. Just one more night... Tomorrow…
Tomorrow, at last, he would be able to take her home…
(( Jinaal Hotel, Trill ))
He sat on the edge of the unmade bed in his dimly lit hotel room, his gaze fixed on the hotel logo, which slowly scrolled across the glossy console screen on the table across the room. The rhythmic pulse of the logo echoed the room's stillness, a reminder of the solitude of his soul and his thoughts. Thoughts swirled in his mind as he weighed the decision of whether to reach out to someone, anyone. But deep down, he knew there was little sense in making a call. Ferenginar was nestled in the depths of midnight, while Donegan was likely somewhere en route to Thidia, who knows where.
Outside, the city's vibrant pulse illuminated the darkness, with streetlights casting a warm glow through the darkened windows. The life that thrived beyond his solitary haven. Yet, despite these city lights, the night felt heavy and isolating, wrapping around him like a shroud and amplifying the loneliness that settled in the corners of his heart. He had no one to reach out to. Yet, he realized he could still connect with someone, even if only through words.
Gently, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stepped onto the cool floor, a shiver running up his spine. Taking a deep breath, he walked over to the desk, eased himself into the chair, and powered up the console. The screen came to life, casting shadows on the walls, and he knew. He knew who he needed to write to…
//
Communication Log, Stardate 240211.26
To: Imril, LTJG, USS Artemis
From: Olliver Kimmi Bergmen, LTJG, USS Artemis
Subject: Hey, hello, hi
Hi Imril. How’s Ferenginar? Does the planet treat you well, or have some Ferengi already emptied your pockets already, Lieutenant?
Or better to ask, have you already been to Ferenginar? Or did you just need to finish that one more job before leaving? That one job, which then became five, five became ten, and weeks went by? And be honest, I will not bite your head off, Mr. Workaholic.
Yeah, I’m still on Trill. Waiting for assignment. They said tomorrow, but yesterday said today, so who knows? I’m not. But I still have two days' credit left to get to my word and make it to that “raktajino&chill” afternoon I promised, so, don’t worry. What would it be like if someone who was pulling you out of work to at least get some rest had to cancel it themselves because of... work?
Badly, I know. Yeah. As I would be in a position to give you a lecture, leaving the shore leave for service, I know. I will explain what this was about in a week or so. Over raktajino. Hopefully.
So, see you soon.
Or maybe I call you before then, or write, or whatever.
Bye, and enjoy whatever you're doing.
Ollie
//
TBC
–
Lieutenant JG Ollie Bergmen
Operations Officer
U.S.S. Artemis-A
A240009JC1